


To Carry My Heart

by DayenuRose



Series: Romy Week 2020 [3]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Books, Ephemera - Freeform, F/M, Friendship, Gloves, Hair Braiding, Pockets, Rainy Days, Reading, Rogue/Remy week 2020, Security, Touch, Trenchcoats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22584052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayenuRose/pseuds/DayenuRose
Summary: Over the course of their relationship, Rogue wants to know Remy better, though he is often reticent to share. Remy wants Rogue to trust him, but she is fears the cost of letting someone in. Sometimes the way to accomplish these goals is one object at a time.Part of Romy Week 2020Day 4: What does Gambit keep in his pockets?
Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Rogue
Series: Romy Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622878
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	1. Ephemera

It was early enough in the evening that the majority of the X-men present at the Mansion hadn’t yet managed to drift into the den to catch an episode or two of television or a game of pool before drifting off again to whatever activity filled their evening. It had been raining non-stop for the the last three days and everyone was going a bit stir crazy. For the most part, they’d spent the day meandering around the Mansion looking for something to do and sniping at each other. Rogue had wandered into the den, hoping to find it empty so she might stretch out and do some reading before the others arrived and she once more needed to pull into herself. It was hard to get comfortable when she needed to be constantly vigilant about the exact location of everyone in her vicinity. An accidental touch could have dire consequences. Besides, though they tried not to show it, her presence made the others nervous. 

Except, she wasn’t alone. 

Gambit—Remy—was already in the den, standing in the far corner and staring out the window. Raindrops splattered against the pane in an unceasing patter. At the sight of him, her traitorous heart raced with desire. It wouldn’t do to let him know how much she wanted to be with him, because no matter how much she might wish otherwise, it would never work out between them. If she kept holding him at arm’s length, maybe it would hurt less when he eventually got the picture and set his sights on a more attainable woman. 

“Evenin’ chère.” Remy nodded his head in greeting before returning his attention to the window. He wore his long brown duster and wrapped his arms across his chest like he was trying to ward off a chill. The usual fire in his red on black eyes was dim and held an unfocused, faraway expression she wasn’t used to seeing from him. He appeared content to simply think deep thoughts, or get lost in the past, or whatever thoughts the rain brought with it. 

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from spouting the sardonic retort that bubbled on her tongue. Instead she settled on the couch and flipped through the book until she found her spot. Despite staring at the page, her thoughts kept wandering to the Cajun charmer at the window. She had come here in a quest for solitude, then found that she didn’t really want him to leave. Since her powers manifested, her life had become a series of finely choreographed movements, always hitting her mark so she didn’t risk making contact with another person. On the other hand, Remy improvised, threading his way through and around her life until they had become intricately entangled. When had sharing a room with Remy stopped feeling like entertaining an outsider and started feeling as natural as breathing?

Pushing aside such thoughts, Rogue dipped her head forward so her hair fell like a curtain between her and Remy as she forced her attention back to her book. After all, that was why she was here. She wasn’t far into the first paragraph when she remembered why she had bought the book, and her cheeks grew heated. Burying her face deeper into the pages of her novel, Rogue hoped to hide the brilliant red until she could control it. 

She had selected a historic romance for her evening read. One whose back cover blurb promised the innocent yet independent ingenue would fall in love with the rakish, debonair thief by the end of the novel. The story so far had been relatively mild by romance standards, but the cover showed the heroine in a Regency-esque gown with its high wait and a low-scooped neckline which displayed an impressive amount of décolletage. If that wasn’t enough, the protagonist was being held in a rather intimate embrace by the thief. 

All Rogue could do was keep reading and pretend that she hadn’t noticed the coincidental similarities between the characters and the den’s occupants. To leave now would appear as if she was trying to avoid his company, which, her red cheeks notwithstanding, she definitely was not. If Remy had noticed her embarrassment, he didn’t comment. He cracked open the window, letting in the scent of wet earth and a rush of chilled air. The clock on the mantle ticked softly as they remained across the room from each other in companionable silence.

Rogue huffed in frustration as she yanked back her hair for what must have been the dozenth time in the last five minutes. It certainly had been one of those days where her hair refused to obey. The nonstop rain had done nothing to help settle the wild mass of curls. Instead, the rising humidity had made it a frizzy mess. 

“You okay chère?” Gambit asked, breaking the silence. Reaching into his pocket he retrieved a package of cigarettes and tapped one out. 

“Ah’m fine,” she groused, pushing her hair back once again. It wasn’t fair. His long hair was pulled back in a neat tail that appeared as though it never gave him a moments trouble. “Don’ suppose ya have a pair of scissors in your pockets?”

He lit the cigarette with a small infusion of energy. “Non. What you be needin’ scisors for?”

“To cut mah hair,” she declared. A challenge burned in her bright green eyes. 

Remy blew out a long breath of smoke towards the open window and held the cigarette to the gap while he studied her. “Whatcha want t’ do dat for?”

“‘Cause it’s driving me nuts.” 

“Hmm.” Remy rummaged in the pockets of his coat. “Try dis instead.”

He flung a hair elastic across the room. She caught it before it could sail past her and become lost in the shadows. With a shake of her head, she held up the black band as though to fling it back. A long strand of straight, auburn hair wrapped around it. “Thanks swamp rat, but it won’t work. Ah’ve got too much hair.”

“Hmph.” He crossed the room so he stood behind her. His hands rested along the back of the couch on either side of her head. With the cigarette clamped between his lips, his voice was muffled. “Do you trust me?”

Rogue found her herself nodding though a protest balanced on her tongue. Instead of answering, she bandied another question, “Ah thought there were rules ‘bout smokin’ in the house.” 

Even though she couldn’t see him, she could feel his shrug by the way the pressure on the couch shifted. “Dats why I opened de window.”

“Well, don’ blame me when they decide to yell at ya again.” Rogue could swear she saw him grinning in the reflection from the tv. He took one last drag of his cigarette, savoring it before slowly exhaling. Stubbing out the end of his cigarette, he perched the remainder along the edge of a glass ashtray left on the end table beside the couch.

Just as quickly, his expression grew serious and the red of his eyes smoldered with an intensity which made her heart race and her breath catch in her chest. His hands remained near her, but never touching. “You never answered my question, chère. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. She was glad no one else was in the room. How could she explain her attraction to Remy to the rest of them? They expected her to push everyone away, when, in reality, all she wanted to do was pull Remy close. 

“All right, ’m gonna to touch your hair. I promise, I’ll be careful. Dat okay?” He held out his hands so she could see in her peripheral vision that he wore his gloves. 

“Okay. But just my hair,” she agreed. 

She sat in rapt silence as he worked. Combing his fingers through her hair, he worked out the worse of the knots. Slowly, her body relaxed and she hummed to herself as he patiently moved from messaging her scalp to separating her hair. With deft fingers, he worked her wild curls into a French braid. 

“Chère, ‘m gonna need dat hair band now.” He reached over her shoulder with one hand while he held the end of the broad with his other. 

Rogue started. She’d almost fallen asleep while he’d worked her hair in a soothing rhythm. When was the last time she had relaxed this much in the presence of another person? Certainly it had to have been sometime before Cody. Though she struggled to recall such a time.

“Right, here.” Rogue fumbled to retrieve the elastic from where it had fallen. 

Returning the elastic, her fingers brushed his as she handed over the hair tie. Using the reflection from the dark television screen as a mirror, she twisted her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the braid. Instead she caught his melancholic expression. She wanted to ask what was the matter, but surely that would be pushing the bounds of their friendship. So, she simply smiled and said, “It looks nice, swamp rat. Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome, mon chère.” He paused for a moment like he might say something or move closer. Instead, the end of the braid slipped from his fingers. Retrieving the half smoked cigarette, he gestured vaguely in the direction of the windows the continuous rain. “‘M gonna finish dis outside.” 

Before she could ask him to stay with her or ask if she could join him, Remy had strolled out of the den with both hands jammed in his pockets. Tugging the end of her braid and running her fingers over the elastic, Rogue watched him go. Her scalp buzzed with the memory of his touch. 

Strands of the shorter white hair escaped her braid and fell into her face. Rogue sighed and brushed them back behind her ear. After her encounter with Remy, her book held little appeal. His absence left something missing, something she neither name nor could all the novels in the world could not replicate. 

Idly, she wondered, _did he carry it in pockets?_


	2. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue discovers another item Remy keeps in his pockets and learns a little more about him.

_Where is everybody?_

The Mansion was unusually silent. On a normal morning, the hallways teemed with folks bustling about on X-men or personal business. Rogue had been headed for the library when she had received Professor Xavier’s mental summons to meet in his office. The message had been short—almost curt—and contained no more details than he wanted to meet with her. She figured that he was busy and probably wanted to reschedule their previously scheduled appointment to work on controlling her powers. With a shrug, she turned and headed back upstairs. The library could wait. 

Behind her, a floorboard creaked. She whirled around, not wanting to let that Cajun think he’d gotten one up on her, only to find that it wasn’t the swamp rat at all. Bobby stood at the top of the stairs with a cheesy grin and a carefree wave. She sighed internally. Of course it couldn’t have been Remy. Her thief would never have been sloppy enough to make a sound when sneaking up behind her. He knew every loose floorboard and hidden space of the Mansion better than even the Professor. 

“Hey Rogue. Did the Professor summon you too?” Bobby asked, oblivious to her disappointment. 

“Sure thing, sugah.” Rogue smiled as she fell into step beside Bobby. He chatted amiably about a show he’d been watching, though Rogue scarcely heard a word. Why was she so disappointed by the fact that it wasn’t Remy who’d snuck up on her? It wasn’t like she didn’t usually enjoy Bobby’s company. She was friends with Bobby, just like she was friends with Remy. _Right?_

When they reached the office, Rogue hesitated in the doorway. By the number of people pressed into the nominally small space, it appeared to be a full team meeting. She surveyed the room, looking for a clear path through the crowd. Besides, if everyone was here, that should mean, he would...

“What are you looking for?” Bobby leaned in close, so she could hear his query over the general buzz of conversation that filled the room. Despite his relative nearness, there was still an unnatural gap between them. They were friends, but he never slapped her on the back with the same easy camaraderie he did with Hank, or touch her shoulder to get her attention the way he did with Storm. He didn’t even pull her hair to tease her the way he did with Jubilee. 

No, she reined in the desire to sigh, he wouldn’t dare. No one touched the Rogue, not if they valued their own health and safety. For their sake, as well as her own, she held everyone at arms length, building a barrier between her and the world. She had grown so used to pretending this was way she wanted it to be that she didn’t know how to even attempt to approach anyone. Fully covered from her shoulders to her toes, Rogue experimentally shifted half an inch closer to Bobby. Without thinking about what he was doing, he moved a half inch away from her to keep the same distance between them. 

This time she did sigh. “Ah’m looking for Remy, sugah.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Bobby whined. 

Rogue rocked to her toes and caught sight of her quarry. Remy curled up on the window seat, apparently oblivious to the others gathered in the office. Through the mass of bodies which blocked the path between the door and the window, it was hard to tell exactly what Remy was doing, though it appeared as if he was reading. “There he is. Ah’ll catch up with you at lunch.”

Before Bobby could say anything else that would want make her want to sock him, Rogue made her way across the room. Like the waters parting for Moses, her friends and colleagues instinctually made a path for her without anyone needing to say a word. She ought to be grateful that they respected the danger of her touch, but she craved human contact.

“Mornin’ chère. Care t’ join me?” Remy didn’t look up from his book, though he did shift his position on the window seat to make room for her.

“Thanks, swamp rat.” There wasn’t much room along the ledge and when she sat her hip and arm brushed against his propped up legs. Once she was settled, he shifted positions so he was no longer curled up sideways on the bench, rather sitting upright with his shoulder pressed against hers. Subconsciously he rested an idle glove covered hand along the edge of her knee. When she pressed her arm against his, he returned the gesture matching pressure for pressure and leaned into her.

She thought she might just start crying at the freely given and received casual touch. Instead, Rogue traced her hand down her leg and stopped at her knees. She hooked her pinkie finger over his. 

Remy accepted the gesture without comment and continued to read. To her continual astonishment, he treated the whole interaction—their every interaction—like it was the most natural thing in the world to touch her. With the book balanced on his lap, he ran the fingers of his free hand across and down the page as he read. When he reached the bottom of the page he glanced up and noticed her staring. 

Shrugging, he feigned an easy nonchalance. “It helps me keep track of where ‘m at on de page. Especially when ‘m tired or de print is small.”

She nodded. At present, it appeared that both were true. The dark circles under his eyes bore evidence to the fact that he was burning the candle on both ends—again. She didn’t know what he did when he was out all night, though she suspected it was more than the drinking and carousing he attempted to have all of them believe. 

As for the book, the pages were covered with minute printing. The slim volume appeared to make up with density what it lacked in page count. She needed to blink twice and take a double glance before she realized the book was actually written in French and not some coded thieve’s cipher. “Whatchya readin’ swamp rat?”

After a moment of rummaging in his pocket, Remy produced a crumpled receipt and slipped it into the book to mark his spot. “Jus’ some poetry.” 

“In French? Surely you could have found somethin’ in English...” Rogue wasn’t certain why she cared what he was reading, or in which language he chose to read it. She supposed at least part of her curiosity might be due to the fact that she hadn’t realized he was fluent enough in French to read it—speak it sure, but reading was something else entirely, as she knew full well. 

“Oui. But de practice is...” he scratched his jaw while he ruminated over the word choice, “De practice is helpful. “

“Practice?” She kept her voice low in an attempt to keep the conversation private in the otherwise crowded room. 

“Dat prob’bly ain’t de right word.” With a shake of his head, he brushed his hair out of his eyes. Dropping his hand, he inched towards his pocket—for a cigarette probably—before glancing around the room and changing his mind. “I didn’ really learn to’ read ‘til I was ‘bout twelve. When Jean-Luc took me in. I could scribble out my name, and recognize a few words by sight—t’ough most o’ dat was simple pattern recognition. I knew what I needed to survive on de streets.”

“Go on,” she prompted. Their voices were so low that it lent an intimacy to the conversation despite the crowded room. 

Clutching the book with both hands, he twisted the spine as pent up energy tried to find a way out of him sans explosion. His patois became thicker as he grew more pensive, more lost in the past than existing in the present. “Readin’ opened up a new world t’ me. Once I started, I couldn’ stop—didn’ want t’. I read voraciously. Read everyt’in’ I could get my hands on. When I finished wit’ de English books in Jean-Luc’s library, I started on de French. Dat was a bit more o’ a challenge, still I managed t’ teach m’self. Could speak it right enough, but at dat point, I had only learned t’ read in English. When mon père discovered what I was doin’, he was mighty proud. He made sure I always had somet’in’ t’ read....”

Rogue glanced up when he paused and surveyed the room. This conversation wasn’t meant for anyone but her and she wanted to safeguard this moment. Storm had engaged Bobby in conversation, halting him in his attempt to follow her across the room. Despite the fact his gaze occasionally shot daggers at Remy, he made no attempt to disengage from his conversation with Storm. Further across the room, Logan had pinned Joseph in what appeared to be a rather uncomfortable interrogation. Though Joseph squirmed under Logan’s scrutiny, he couldn’t escape. Rogue wondered what it said about her that she was secretly glad that Bobby and Joseph were occupied so they couldn’t interrupt her conversation with Remy. 

When she returned her attention to Remy, he was gazing into the middle distance, not seeing the room they presently occupied. Rather, he peered into another time and place. She reached across his lap and plucked the paperback book from his fingers. The corners of the cover were slightly ragged and the edges held the softness that only came with time and frequent readings.

Remy started at the sudden movement and offered her a self-effacing grin. “Course livin’ here, I don’ often have a need t’ read in anyt’in’ but English. I jus’ ain’t keen on de idea of losin’ my ability to read in any language due to lack of use. Feels like I’d be givin’ up on something vital to who I am. Dat I’d be closin’ doors.” With a half-hearted shrug, he attempted to downplay the obvious importance he felt for the topic. He flicked his wrist in an insouciant manner and gestured at the book. His fingers twitched with the lack of anything to occupy them. “So, I always keep a book around t’ read when I have de opportunity.”

Running her thumb along the yellowed pages, Rogue flipped through the book. Scattered throughout, passages were underlined in pencil and the margins were filled with annotations in Remy’s tight, precise hand. The book had a habit of falling open at specific pages. She bit her lower lip as she struggled to decipher marginalia around a passage Remy had not only underlined but starred as well. It’d been far too long since she’d done more than ramble to herself in broken French and the most she could do was pick out a few familiar vocabulary words. Rogue handed the book to him and he slipped the thin volume back into one of the voluminous pockets of his duster. 

“When you’re finished with it Cajun, maybe Ah can borrow it?” Rogue was rather taken aback by her boldness. She couldn’t help but wonder if all his books were as marked up as this one, or if this particular volume was special. Would his notes offer her a glimpse into his thoughts? A glimpse that wasn’t obscured by layers of guilt and fear.

Remy raised an eyebrow. “Certainly, chère, t’ough I didn’ know you could read French. “

It was Rogue’s turn to offer a offhanded shrug. “Not well, Ah speak it better than Ah can read it. Though Ah suppose even that’s pretty rusty by now since Ah haven’ had an actual conversation in French in ages....”

Remy chuckled that deep, genuine laugh that she didn’t hear often enough. It always buoyed her spirits. Something in the way he relaxed made her think that he only laughed like that when she was around. Unable to help herself, she smiled back at him and joined him. _What a pair we make._

From the hallways, the whirl of the professor’s chair could be heard approaching. Scott’s muffled voice responded to a question no one but Wolverine had probably heard. With the imminent approach of Scott and the Professor, the conversations in the office drew to a close and most everyone shifted to attention. Rogue slid off the window seat, ready to return to business. 

Before she could step away, Remy touched her arm. “If you’re still interested in readin’ de book,” he tapped the pocket where he’d stowed it, “we could go up to the roof dis afternoon an’ I could read it t’ you.” 

“Ah’d like that sugah.” No matter how she tried to school the giddy grin on her face she couldn’t disguise her excitement. 

The Professor rounded the corner into the office; Scott entered a step behind. Remy languidly pushed himself off the seat and stood beside her. They weren’t touching, but the distance between them didn’t feel like a prescribed barrier. 

As the Professor greeted them and began his prepared speech, Remy leaned in close and brushed a loose curl behind her ear. In a low rumble, he whispered, “Den it’s a date, chère.”


	3. Security - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Rogue's gloves are ruined, she finds herself a loss.

Rogue dropped the rope she’d just reeled in. Moments ago, it had felt almost alive as it slithered through her hands at increasing speeds until she managed to get a firm grasp on it mere inches from the end. Now the rope pooled at her feet in a lifeless coil. Strange how an ordinary coil of rope had not only been a vital part of their strategy, but a literal lifeline as well. Rogue shook her head and brushed the damp, matted strands of white hair away from her face with the back of her hand. They had come too close to losing it all. If she hadn’t grabbed a hold of the end—well, they wouldn’t be standing here now. 

“Darn it!” Rogue plucked at the shredded palms of her gloves. The skin below the ruined material stung and was pink from the friction but still remained unbroken. She flexed her fingers, the little of the fabric which remained strained with the movement and threatened to give way. If she was careful, she could probably make it back to her room at the Mansion without incident; though she wouldn’t be able to shake anyone’s hand. She rolled her eye and stifled an exasperated sigh. _As if that was likely to happen._

“What’s wrong, chère?” Gambit jogged up beside her. A layer of fresh mud caked the last several inches of his duster and left muddy streaks along his calves. The devil-may-care grin he’d maintained throughout the fight had been replaced with a concerned expression which furrowed his brow and tugged the corners of his lips downward. He grasped her shoulder while his scarlet gaze swept over her searching for the problem. 

Rogue held up her hands, displaying her shredded gloves. “No touchin’ swamp rat.”

Immediately she felt the loss of his touch as his hand slipped from her shoulder in compliance to her statement. She wished she had worded it another way. 

“Do you have another pair?” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his duster and fumbled with the miscellanea hidden within.

Running her hands through her hair, Rogue let out a frustrated breath. A sensation of helplessness crept up her spine and hung over her in a heavy miasma. Her shoulders sagged and she ducked her chin, as though she’d be less of a danger if she pulled her extremities into her herself. The multiple layers of clothing provided a protective barrier between her touch and the world. To have that protection suddenly stripped away, left her vulnerable and dangerous. As a result, her words came out harsh and biting. “If Ah had another pair, then it wouldn’ be much of a problem, now would it be?”

Gambit’s eyes narrowed and his lips pulled into a thin line as he bit back a sardonic response. His red eyes smoldered with a passion that matched her own. Too often their rising tempers sparked off each other like flint and steel. She could only imagine what it would be like if they could turn that spark into a more pleasant pursuit than fighting. Such scenarios had played out across her mind’s eye more times than she cared to count or admit even to herself. Those _might have beens_ always left her with an aching heart and a prickly temper. The only solution was to keep him at bay, right? _If only_ she hadn’t been cursed to spend her life alone. She forced the thoughts aside and clenched her jaw until it hurt. 

The conversation lulled and she turned her back on him. Rogue tugged at the sleeves of her uniform in an attempt to hide her hands within the protective layer of fabric. The material stretched enough to cover her palms, but only as long as she kept her fingers curled around the cuffs. Otherwise, the sleeves would relax and bunch around her wrists. Holding the sleeves in place left her as helpless as being gloveless, if not more so, since it effectively left her without the use of her hands. Instead, she crossed her arms over her stomach and tucked her hands against her body. 

In general, she didn’t mind her uniform. The fitted bodysuit covered the majority of her skin—unlike the uniforms of some of her teammates—and the color brought out the green in her eyes, but she did miss the bomber jacket she’d worn for so long. Not only had the jacket served as another protective layer, it also had pockets. She had never managed to carry as much as Remy did, though they were large enough for a few necessities. And, in her case, spare gloves were definitely a necessity. Though she couldn’t do much about it now. 

Remy had taken a step closer when she had turned so he now stood right behind her. With what must have been a Herculean effort, he kept a respectful distance between them, waiting for her to open herself up to him. He hadn’t touched her since she had warned him off and withdrew into her protective shell, yet every sensation in her body quivered at his nearness. Instinctually she moved back half a step so that her body almost pressed against his. At her nearness, Remy’s breath caught in his chest with a nearly inaudible gasp. She closed her eyes and inhaled his heady scent. He often remarked that her scent was sweet. If that were the case, then she would describe his as spice mingled with leather and tobacco. Forcing herself to breathe normally, she hoped he couldn’t tell how intensely he affected her. Though it was probably already too late for that. She was acutely aware of his every move and at this distance he could be no less certain of hers. There was a rustle of leather as he withdrew his hands from his pockets.

“Here chère, you can have dese.” Reaching around her, he handed her a pair of gloves—his gloves, if the missing fingers were anything to go by. “I know dey don’ exactly cover...”

“They’re perfect, thanks Remy.” Rogue slipped his gloves over her own. Between the two pairs, the world was once again safe from her cursed touch. With the restoration of the protective layers, her defensive posturing slipped away and she was able to relax. She flexed her fingers as though to prove she was no longer a danger to herself or others. 

“Anyt’in’ for you, mon chère.” No matter how hard she tried to deny the effect, the low, rich murmur of his patois sent her heart racing. And, he was oh so close.

Overcome by an impulse she couldn’t explain, Rogue whirled around quick enough to take even Remy off guard. Before he could react, she clamped a hand over his mouth and kissed the back of her hand in a lightning fast peck. 

Recovering from his surprise, Remy wrapped an arm around her waist. His hand gently pressed against the small of her back. 

“Don’ go.” The resonate thrum of his voice sent thrills down her spine. If she pulled away, he wouldn’t stop her. She didn’t fight his hold. 

“Mmm?” Prompted by the security she felt with the restoration of her gloves, she leaned into him. For the second time in less than a minute she surprised him. His eyes widened and a sensuous smile played at his lips. Her body responded with a ready invitation before her brain could catch up with what she was about to do. Raising her face to his, her eyes fell half lidded and her lips parted. She rested a hand over his heart. Their hearts raced with long denied desire. 

_What am Ah doin’?_

He hands dropped from her waist, offering her an out. When she didn’t run, Remy cupped her head with one hand—exposed fingers tangled in her hair, his thumb catching a loose, white curl. Careful to avoid skin contact, Remy gently pressed his free hand over her mouth and returned the kiss. 

When he released her, she flushed scarlet. Her brain scolded her with all the potential dangers which might have resulted from his reciprocation of her reckless stunt. The millions of words that came to mind to tell him off for being so bold died before they reached her lips. Those words weren’t the honest ones. 

Instead, she stepped back and smiled. The intensity of his smoldering eyes burned into her, reading her body and soul. It would be easier to run. It would definitely be safer. Instinct instructed her to protect her heart at all costs. The wisest course of action would be to turn her back on his love and deny her heart. But, she was tired of denying herself, of holding back. For once in her cursed existence, she wanted to be honest with the man who held her heart. The one she loved. So, Rogue forced herself to meet his gaze and accept all the love and friendship he was offering. “Thanks.” 

Remy smiled, a genuine grin meant only for her. The one no one else got to see. Reverently, he brushed his two covered fingertips over the exposed sliver of skin at her wrist created by the gap between her sleeve and the gloves. Her skin buzzed at his tantalizing touch. Possibilities and potentialities filled her brain. _What ifs_...rang in her ears. 

With a final exquisite, tender caress, Remy adjusted her sleeve, restoring everything to its proper place. “De others will be waitin’.”

“Right.” Snapping back to reality, Rogue exhaled sharply, blowing the white fringe out of her eyes. “Let’s go, sugah”

As they headed back in the direction of the Blackbird, Rogue allowed his touch to linger. Though home and family were her heart’s desire and she dreamed of someday being able to have a husband and children (with Remy playing a featuring role in these daydreams), she knew in her heart of hearts that moments like the one they had just shared could only ever happen in passing. Surely someday his better sense would prevail and he would find someone to love with whom he didn’t need to restrain himself. Someone he could touch without barriers. On that day, she knew she would have to let him go, but until then, she wanted to treasure these moments, these stollen touches. No matter what the future held, she would always cherish the time they spent together. Even if those memories would break her heart when he was no longer hers. 

With a bittersweet smile, she slipped her glove covered hand into his. Her fingers entwined with his and Remy gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. For now she was content and that was all she could ask of the moment. Being with Remy would always be a risk, yet Rogue knew when she was with him, she was safe.


	4. Security - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a mission, the contents of Gambit's pockets come in handy. They also come with a story.

Rogue perched beside Gambit as they surveyed the office tower across the street. According to the intelligence provided by Cyclops, the building should be nearly empty at this hour. It was well past the time when most of the employees should have left for the evening. Except, that didn’t appear to be the case tonight. Too many lights remained on in the office suites on the thirty-sixth floor and semi-obscured silhouettes passed behind the tinted glass. If it had been any other floor, the late night workers would have posed less of a problem, but to reach their target they would need to pass directly through those occupied offices. 

When they had arrived forty-five minutes ago, Remy had muttered a curse under his breath, then fell silent. Badly out of practice at the fine art of surveillance, Rogue had followed his lead and watched silently. Holding in a frustrated sigh, Rogue fought back the urge to ask the question which had niggled at the back of her brain since being assigned to this portion of the mission. The longer they waited, the greater her confusion grew. Were they waiting because she lacked the skills needed to infiltrate the office?

“Is there another way in?” Rogue asked instead, keeping the question at a low murmur.

“Non.” Remy pushed back the handful of hair which had fallen in his face when he shook his head in response to her question. “If we had pulled off de heist durin’ normal business hours, maybe. But, de office is too heavily fortified to break in any other way. Especially wit’ dem bigwigs blockin’ our path. Right now, all we can do is wait dem out.” 

Rogue nodded. Slowly, she rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. A headache, more irritating than painful, throbbed at her temples. Taking slow, deep breaths, she forced herself to refocus on their target. 

“Somet’in’ on your mind, chère?” Remy’s intense red-eyed gaze never wavered from the other building. 

“Why me?” Rogue asked at last. “Cyclops said ya asked for me specifically. But, it don’ make a lick of sense. Ah mean, Ah’m not the first y’all think of when it comes to being stealthy. Surely, Storm or Psylocke would have been a better choice.” 

When she had still been part of the Brotherhood, Rogue was often assigned to infiltration, surveillance, and intelligence gathering, rather than the more directly violent aspects of their missions. At the time, she’d chalked it up to Mystique’s tendency of being rather protective of her foster daughter. That, and being scarcely more than thirteen when she went on her first mission with them. Everyone pulled their weight in the Brotherhood and, despite the ill effects to herself and her victims, her natural mutant abilities were more suited for infiltration than fighting.

Course, that all changed after Rogue’s fateful encounter with Carol Danvers. After that, she was rarely asked to participate in missions requiring stealth. With her strength and near-invulnerability, she had become a cornerstone of X-men’s fighting force. Her job was to take and give as much damage as possible. While she didn’t miss being a terrorist and part of her was glad she didn’t need to rely on her absorption abilities to be useful to the team, there were times she missed being something more than a tank. 

Remy was silent for a long moment as he mulled over his response. He twirled his collapsed bō staff between his fingers, his only sign of fidgeting. Finally, he shrugged and agreed with her. “Oui, I asked fo’ you.”

“But...” Rogue prompted, hoping there was more. 

“Just cause you can take down an army by your lonesome, don’ mean you don’ have more t’ offer de team, chère.” For the first time since their arrival, that languid, sexy grin of his which turned her legs to jelly, spread across his face. “‘Sides, I wanted t’ spend some time wit’ you. It’s been a while...”

“Mmhmm.” A rosy flush warmed her cheeks and a sense of contentment replaced the earlier confusion. She might not usually consider casing a joint quality time, but he was right. It had been a too long since they had a real opportunity to spend time together. And, she did appreciate the chance to be alone with him, even if they were working. “Ah’ve missed ya too, Swamp Rat.”

Silence once more fell between them as they resumed their vigil. This time, she was able to relish the companionable silence. The pattern of movement on the thirty-sixth floor shifted as the shadows began to gather. Remy shifted his stance, subtly stretching his long limbs as though he was preparing to move. Rogue bit her lip and counted the silhouettes, keeping track of the dwindling number of occupants. 

Her stomach growled loudly. She swore it echoed like the rumble of a train in the still of the night. Remy’s gaze flickered away from their target and swept over her with an intense concern. “You okay, chère?”

“Yeah,” she drawled, pressing a hand against her stomach as though she could hold in the grumbling hunger pangs which gnawed at her belly. It didn’t help. Her stomach rumbled loudly in protest. 

An expression she couldn’t quite interpret flickered across his red on black eyes. His jaw tightened and his fingers flitted across the outside of his duster pockets. As though he were cataloguing the contents by touch. “You certain?” 

She gave a succinct nod. It was nothing that she couldn’t push past for another hour or so. She’d eat when the mission was over. Maybe she could convince Remy to join her. She wasn’t ready for their time together to be over. Besides, it’d be nice to spend some non-work time with him again—as friends, of course. “Ah’m fine, really.” 

Despite her reassurance, his brow remained furrowed. He worried at his lower lip and his tapped a rapid tattoo against the outside of his pocket. 

“Don’ worry swamp rat, Ah just missed lunch with the team and wasn’t hungry when Ah got back from the supply run. Then we all got busy with preparing for the mission.” She ignored the empty gnawing in the hollow of her stomach. “When we left early, Ah forgot to grab somethin’.” 

“Rogue...” With evident disquiet, he reached out and brushed her shoulder. 

She needed to bite her lip to keep from rolling her eyes. He was more troubled about her accidentally skipping a couple of meals than she felt the situation warranted. Still, his concern was genuine and she didn’t want to make light of that, whatever the cause. “Won’t happen again—Ah promise.” 

“Bien.” He murmured under his breath, then turned back to watch the building across the street. 

For twenty minutes they continued to watch in silence. To Rogue’s eyes, the coast appeared clear, but it was obvious Gambit was seeing something she was not. No doubt his training as a thief gave him a better insight into the scene before them. 

Grrrr...

Rogue sucked in her stomach and flushed as another loud rumble broke the silence. This was beginning to get more than a little embarrassing. 

Quick as lighting, Remy’s fingers dipped into his pocket. “Catch.” 

A small rectangular object flashed through the space between them. The light of the moon reflected off the foil wrapper. By instinct, Rogue caught it, curling her fingers tight around the narrow, rectangular object. “What’s this, Cajun?” 

“Jus’ eat it, chère. It’s almost time.” His crimson gaze was once more trained on the office building. As if on cue, the lights shining through the windows began to go dark.

Opening her hand, Rogue blinked in surprise at the granola bar lying across her palm. _Why in the world does Remy keep a granola bar in his pocket?_ She’d never seen him eat one and with the way he liked to putter around the kitchen, she didn’t think he would habitually eat something so— _ordinary_. With a shrug Rogue peeled back the wrapper and took a bite. Whatever his reasons were, she was grateful he had been carrying a granola bar tonight. Hopefully it would quell her grumbling stomach long enough for them to complete their mission. Once she finished the bar, she crumpled up the wrapper and glanced around for a proper place to dispose of it. 

“Here,” Remy snatched the wrapper from her hand a little more brusquely than usual. Infusing the crumpled ball with a touch of power, it disappeared with a small poof and a flash of fuchsia. He rocked to the balls of his feet and he readjusted his hold on his bō staff for the umpteenth time. His knee bounced in an uneven rhythm that was beginning to drive Rogue nuts. Meanwhile, his hand kept drifting instinctually to his pocket only to jerk away the moment he touched the leather. 

“Is there somethin’ amiss?” Rogue asked moving so she was crouching right beside him. Her shoulder brushed against his and he leaned into her. She could feel the tension running through his muscles and radiating off him in near tangible waves. “Do we need to call the mission off?”

“Non.” Remy gave a curt shake of his head, his hair falling into his eyes. 

“What’s wrong, sugah? This ain’t like ya.” She kept her voice low, infusing it with as much concern as she could manage without sounding patronizing. 

“Not’in’.” He snapped the word like it was a pop of Jubilee’s gum rather than the languid drawl he usually infused into his speech whenever they weren’t fighting. 

Rogue frowned. She _could_ search through his memories, which still lurked in the depths of her subconscious, to try and find the source of his agitation, but she didn’t want to. All she ever wanted was to know Remy without the aid of her powers. When he chose to reveal something, the information was painfully slow in coming. More often than not he stretched her patience to the near breaking point. Still, it was better to let him share when he was ready rather than force the information from him. 

Besides, his memories were a mess and even now that she knew his most shameful secrets and had context for many of his memories, it was still a hassle to try and detangle the threads for a single memory. The memories she absorbed with his psyche were a Gordian knot she couldn’t untangle on her own. Whenever she tried to access them, self-hatred and guilt washed over her psyche and tainted his memories. Mistrust and loss mingled with the rest. And, right now wasn’t the time to deal with aftermath, especially since it wasn’t pertinent to the task at hand. She needed a clear mind to complete their mission.

The silence between them stretched. Rogue was about to give it up as a loss when Remy spoke. There was a catch in his voice. “Dat was my last one. Been awhile since...”

_Last one?_ She studied him for a moment. His grasp on his bō tightened, though she didn’t think he was talking about his staff. He didn’t start acting squirrelly until.... Her gaze flicked back to her own hands, a dark smudge of chocolate stood out along her index finger. _Was he talking about the granola bar?_

Rogue ran a hand over her stomach. Something more than hunger gnawed at the lining of her stomach. Whatever the sensation was, years of experience dealing with her own mutation told her, it wasn’t originating from her own psyche. While she recognized it, she couldn’t quite place the sensation. Was it... _fear?_ No. That wasn’t quite right. Certainly a thread of fear ran through her, but that didn’t completely describe what she was feeling. Without meaning to, Remy’s psyche was acting up and causing her to experience his reaction to the situation. Something about all of this was making him irritable and was starting to do the same to her. Despite this knowledge, it didn’t help her understand what was happening or why. The sensation churning in her gut was foreign and familiar at the same time. There was a sense of vulnerability... of uncertainty... coupled with anxiety... 

A sudden flash of understanding dawned in her consciousness. Whatever was bothering Remy was the similar to the feeling she had whenever she lost her gloves. 

“Remy?” Her hand tightened around his upper arm. “Talk to me....”

“Later, chère, I promise. It’s time t’ go.” Remy scrambled to his feet. The emotions which had been burning in his scarlet eyes were closed off behind the blank mask of a professional. She would get no more from him until the job was over. 

Following his example, she stowed the questions and unease to the back of her mind and got on with the mission. 

****

Cyclops was waiting for them when Rogue landed at the rendezvous point with Gambit in her arms. She set Remy down, regretting the loss of his closeness the moment he was standing on his own two feet. As though they weren’t over an hour late, Remy took his time rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. Languidly, Remy pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it before Scott had an opportunity to start in on the inevitable lecture.

A concerned furrow creased Rogue’s brow as she tried to remember when she had last seen Remy smoke. It had been quite some time ago. While she knew he still smoked occasionally, he didn’t usually do it when he was around others—especially her. Now, it appeared as though he was trying to deliberately provoke Cyclops with the action. Then again, she hadn’t missed the tight pull of tension laced through his corded muscles as she carried him. The cigarette, she supposed, was helping ease whatever was bothering him until he had the opportunity to properly work through it. (Or, knowing Remy as she did, until he could suppress it.)

“What took so long?” Cyclops demeaned. He held out his hand. Even with the visor obscuring his eyes, it was easy to read the irritation on their fearless leader’s face.

Remy took a long drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly before retrieving the disc from his other pocket and slapping it against Cyclops’ palm. “You failed t’ mention dat dey were runnin’ deir backup protocol t’night. Might have saved yourself some waitin’ if you’d have let me know.” 

Scott shrugged. “Why couldn’t you have made our copy while they were making their backup?” 

“Ne’er mind. You’ve got your data.” Remy wrapped an arm around Rogue’s waist. “C’mon chère.”

“You’re staying right here until I’m done with you.” Cyclops maneuvered himself between the X-Men and the direction Remy was leading them. 

“Non. We’re getting dinner.” Remy blew a stream of smoke in Cyclops’ face. Scott coughed and waved the disc in front of him trying to clear the air.

“Dinner? What are you talking about? The mission isn’t over yet...” Cyclops glanced between Rogue and Gambit. The evident confusion on Scott’s face would be almost comical if Rogue wasn’t nearly certain she’d be getting an explanation along with dinner. 

“Sorry sugah,” Rogue glanced over her shoulder as they brushed past. Her eyes flashed, daring their leader to protest. Cyclops wisely held his tongue. “Our portion of the job is complete, ya don’ need us for the next part. We’ll debrief with the rest of y’all tomorrow.”

Cyclops spluttered but didn’t try to stop them. Rogue was glad. Though for all intents and purposes Remy was giving off the impression of being thoroughly unperturbed, with his arm wrapped around her waist, Rogue could feel the rigid lines of tension running along his limbs. 

****

It was a fifteen minute walk to find a diner which was opened late. Remy’s pace was quick, efficient, and lacking any trace of the insouciant grace which usually marked his movements. Despite his hurry, he kept his longer strides at a pace with her shorter stride. His lips were pulled into a thin, tight line and Remy didn’t speak. Rogue found that she was too anxious to push him for answers. She’d known him long enough to recognize the expression hidden behind his shuttered gaze. Anyone else would see him closed off—expressionless—but to her eyes, she clearly recognized the vulnerability bleeding through his every word and every action.

The warm golden lights shining through the large, plate glass windows of the twenty-four hour diner were a welcoming sight. Rogues stomach gave a gurgle of anticipation, while the tension in a Remy’s shoulders slightly eased. A cheery bell jingled over the door announcing their arrival to the nearly empty diner. Greeted by a rush of warm air and the homey aroma of cooking food, Rogue and Remy followed the posted instructions and seated themselves in a cozy booth near the back of the diner. With the menu spread out before him, Remy finally began to relax. 

“Hi, I’m Amy. I’ll be your waitress this evening.” A young woman who appeared barely out of high school approached their table. She pulled a small notepad from the pocket of her black half apron. “Can I get you anything to start off?”

“Oui.” Remy didn’t look away from the menu, instead he began ordering a myriad of items from across the offerings. 

When he finished ordering, he glanced up and offered Rogue a sheepish grin. “Order what you like chère, my treat.” He paused as he handed her the open menu, recalling the number of items he’d ordered, “Or, I suppose, you can share wit’ me.”

“Ah’ll have my own coffee, but other than that, Ah think we’ll share. You got just about a bit of everything, sugah.” Rogue grinned brightly at her dining companion as she turned over her coffee mug. 

Amy filled both of their mugs with the steaming, dark brew, then headed back to the kitchen to put in their order. While Rogue slipped the menu behind the condiments and grabbed a handful of the individual creamer cups for her coffee, Remy wrapped his hands around his mug, but didn’t stop fidgeting. “Sorry ‘bout all dat. Didn’ realize it would hit me so hard...”

“Cajun, Ah know Ah got your psyche swimmin’ around my head, but it doesn’ mean Ah have an all access pass to what ya are thinkin’ at any one moment. Ya’re gonna have to give me a few more details before Ah can start makin’ sense o’ why Ah’m feelin’ as jittery as the last time Ah’d lost mah gloves.”

Instead of answering immediately, Remy pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and split the deck a half dozen times in a rapid steady shuffle. Mechanically, he laid out a game of solitaire in front of him. Without a glance at the game, he swept the cards off the table and repeated the process of shuffling and dealing another game before Rogue broke the silence. 

“You okay sugah?” She wrapped her hands around the coffee cup. Warmth seeped through her gloves. She wished she didn’t need to wear them. But, with Remy so close, it was better to be safe than sorry with his nearly irresistible charm. 

He looked up from his game as if seeing her for the first time since they ordered. “Oui, I’ll be fine.”

Rogue scrunched her nose and shook her head. For some reason she didn’t quite believe him. Reaching across the table she cupped her hand over his, stilling his restless motion. “Swamp rat, Ah know ya’ll be okay, but Ah want to know, right here, right now. How are ya?”

Remy gave an exaggerated, languid shrug. He moved in an elegant, almost boneless manner. “Je vais bien. Just got to work through it chère. It takes time.” 

“Whatchya workin’ through?” She gestured over at the menues tucked behind the ketchup bottle and salt and pepper shakers. “Does it have somethin’ to do with orderin’ half the menu?”

Remy chuckled and Rogue felt as if she could relax a bit. “Didn’ order half the menu. Maybe a quarter, but even then...”

“All right, all right. But even ya have to admit, ya did order more than the two of us could reasonably eat.” 

“Oui. I know.” He swept the cards together and returned them to his pocket. 

She bit her lip. As much as she wanted to pepper him with a hundred questions, she knew that if she wanted answers, she needed to be patient. Instead, she emptied several creamers into her coffee. Her spoon clinked against the ceramic as she swirled the creamer into the coffee and waited for him to speak. 

After we felt like an eternity, though it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two, Remy swallowed hard. His face was drawn, making the stark lines of his cheekbones more prominent. For a flickering moment, Rogue could see the lost, lonely, little boy in his haunted red on black eyes. He reached across the table and tapped her temple. “How much do you have ‘bout my childhood up dere?”

Rogue shrugged. She really wasn’t certain. His more recent memories had been so overwhelming, so difficult to decipher and unravel, that she didn’t often try to look any deeper than the occasional flash of memory. “They’re locked up pretty tight sugah. Ah suppose Ah could rummage around and try to sort them out, but Ah’d rather learn about you from you....Ya know, instead of rooting around your stolen memories.” 

“‘preciate dat, chère.” Remy lapsed into silence. He once again placed his hands over his pockets as if cataloging the contents by touch. “Let’s start wit’ what you do rem’mber.”

Rogue shrugged. “Ah know ya were adopted by Jean-Luc and he brought ya into the Theive’s Guild. An’ Ah’m not likely t’ forget ‘bout Paris... Is that what ya’re gettin’ at?”

“Non.” Remy shook his head. His long russet hair swung back and forth with the movement. With his head still bowed, his loose hair obscured his vision. “Before all dat. When I was not’in’ more dan a garçon.”

“Oh.” A sudden understanding caused her stomach to tighten. She gulped a too large mouthful of coffee. 

“You know I lived on de streets, neh? Pickin’ pockets and doin’ whatever necessary t’ survive. Dere was never a guarantee of a warm bed or a full stomach. Didn’ truly know either was possible til mon père adopted me. Learned t’ sleep with one eye open, t’ always know my exits, and I never knew where my next meal was comin’ from. Went t’ sleep hungry more times den I can count.” 

The waitress returned with the first round of food—soups, salad and an assortment of appetizers. Remy nodded his thanks and dug into the meal without comment.

Though hungry, Rogue could do little more than pick at the plate of food before her. “And the granola bars help?”

“Oui.” He plucked the packets of wrapped saltines from their perches along the edges of the soup saucers and slipped them into his pockets. His breathing became easier and the tension in his shoulders all but disappeared. “It’s hard to shake dat fear o’ not knowin’ where your next meal is comin’ from. After Jean-Luc took me in, I’d hoarded food even t’ough dere was always more dan I could reasonably eat trios times a day. Tante Mattie caught on pretty quick. She taught me t’ cook. Dat helped some. She also suggested I keep somet’in’ t’ eat on my person, dat way I’d always know I’d have somet’in’ t’ eat.”

Rogue didn’t know what to say and didn’t want to interrupt the flow of his story, so she did the next best thing. She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. Remy always found comfort in touch. Though she couldn’t give him the touch he wanted—he needed—she knew that even what little she could give was appreciated. He knew her as well as she knew him. 

“De granola bars are easy to keep in my pocket.” Remy stared into the inky depths of his coffee for a long moment before sipping the steaming liquid. Returning the cup to the table, he didn’t look up as he continued to talk. “Usually I have a couple of bars wit’ me, so if I eat one, I won’ be wit’out. Appears I forgot t’ replace it last time I needed one. Gave you my last granola bar dis evening. After all dis time, didn’ t’ink it would bother me so much.”

When he glanced up from his meal, his eyes were haunted. The red dimmed to a muted glow. He shivered and chafed at his arms as if he felt a sudden chill. “Swore dat I’d never be dat hungry again.”

Rogue swallowed hard as she recognized the shadows of hopelessness and desperation in his eyes. Guilt pricked at her consciousness, reminding her not all his memories of starvation were from childhood. After she abandoned him in Antarctica, not only had he fought the cold and his self-loathing, he had also nearly starved—again. Reliving his childhood traumas must have left more scars than she had considered.

“Ah’m sorry, sugah.” She squeezed his hand. There would never be enough words to express her remorse. 

“Dat was a long time ago, chère.” He adjusted his hand so there fingers were interlaced. Mistakes had been made by both of them. They couldn’t turn back the clock, but they could move forward. 

Spearing a forkful of salad, Rogue ruminated over what Remy had revealed to her. Between the point she left home and Mystique found her, she’d been on her own for only a few days—a week, at most. While she hadn’t exactly had a full belly, she definitely hadn’t starved. On the other hand, Remy had lived in a state of constant deprivation and uncertainty for years. He’d found ways to cope. And...and.... 

Rogue swallowed back the lump of emotion threatening to escape. The lovable idiot— _her idiot_ —had given up his sense of security in order to help her. He had chosen her comfort over his own. There were times she felt like she didn’t deserved the consistency of his friendship. Once again, she couldn’t find the words needed to encompass what she wanted to say. “Thank ya Remy. Ya know, for sharing...” 

With the grin he only ever shared with her, Remy nodded. He leaned across the table and brought the back of her gloved hand to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles. He understood. 

“I don’ mind sharin’ wit’ you, mon coeur.” While his low, soft-spoken words were almost lost in the bustle of the next course being delivered to the table, the meaning was not. She would always be a part of his life and he’d be a part of hers. No matter what happened, they would always have safety and belonging with each other.


	5. To Carry My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the course of their relationship, Rogue has never explored the depths of Remy's pockets. When he's injured, Rogue must take a chance and explore his pockets. Along the way she learns a little more about herself and the love of her life.

“Can ya see anything up there, swamp rat?” Rogue’s teeth chattered as she spoke into the communicator. Standing at the mouth of the alleyway across the street, she kept watch while her husband scaled the fire escapes zig-zagging up the side of the building. She chafed at her arms while she tried to remain still and unseen in the shadows. Though their uniforms were supposed to be temperature controlled, at this time of year, Rogue was always cold. The misting rain had become sleet when she wasn’t looking and the dampness was working its way past her uniform and settling into her bones. She swiped at her hair in an attempt to tuck the white curls behind her ears. Ice-coated hair crunched at her touch. 

“I can see ma très belle femme,” Gambit’s voice crackled in her ear. 

Risking a facefull of icy droplets, Rogue looked up and caught sight of Remy about two-thirds of the way up the building. He leaned over the platform’s railing and blew her a kiss. Despite the cold and wet, Rogue grinned up at him and returned the flirtatious gesture. Once the kiss was on its way, Rogue caught him with a mock-disapproving glower and spoke into the comms. “And, did ya happen to see anything useful to the mission, sugah? ‘Cause if ya want your wife to be something more than a half-frozen popsicle, Ah suggest we hurry this mission along.” 

“Oui, madame,” he replied cheekily as he disappeared from sight. 

“So...” She tapped her foot, splashing slushy droplets across her boots. The puddles were beginning to freeze, making the sidewalks and railings slippery. 

“Desolè chère. Can’t see de rendezvous from here. I t’ink I need a different vantage point. Be back in a moment.” 

Perching along the edge of the cast iron railing, Gambit balanced on the balls of his feet. His fingers curled around the railing as he judged the distances between between buildings and prepared to scramble across to a new perch. She should have just flown...but he was restless and wanted to climb.

“Careful,” she murmured under her breath, more for her own sake than his. They were both well aware he was fully capable of the acrobatic climb. 

“But dat’s part of de fun chè—“ 

Before he could finish the thought, several things happened at once. Time seemed to slow to a screeching halt as Remy let go of the rail and shifted positions to make the jump. At the exact same moment, he lost his footing on the thin layer of ice beginning to form along the rail. His fingers scrambled to find purchase, but he missed. A mangled gasp over the comms was the only warning Rogue had that something was truly wrong. That, and the all too loud thud followed by a reverberating silence. 

“Remy!” Rogue screamed. Before she knew how she got there, she was at her husband’s side. He laid in a limp pile of duster and limbs. His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. There was no cry, no moan, just an unearthly—an _unRemy_ —silence filling the night air. 

Her hands responded by instinct, checking his pulse and breathing. Both were steady and strong enough. Other than his twisted leg, there was no visible sign of additional broken bones or major contusions. She couldn’t feel his ribs through the layer of body armor and didn’t want to risk removing it. Continuing her examination, she carefully checked his head for injury.

It didn’t take long to find evidence. A pool of blood had started to merge with the wet ground beneath his head. Crimson the color of his eyes stained her gloves. She couldn’t discern the extent of his injuries. Bad enough to knock him out. Probably a mercy with the state of his leg. 

Tapping her comm, she urgently switched to the emergency line. She took a deep breath, calming her nerves before speaking. “Ah need backup. Gambit’s been injured.” 

Beast’s voice soon joined the line. “How bad?”

Rogue repeated her initial discoveries—his twisted leg, minor abrasions on his exposed skin. Then, she added what worried her the most. “He’s unconscious and has a head injury. Not sure how bad, but he’s bleedin’. There’s a lot of blood.” 

“Head wounds bleed a lot and I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a concussion. I’d prefer you didn’t move him unless absolutely necessary. I can be there in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, try to stop the bleeding.” 

“O-okay, I can do that. Thanks Beast.” Rogue’s hands shook as she disconnected the call. She needed to get a grip, Remy was counting on her. Focusing her mind, Rogue set about on the tasks Beast assigned her. She needed something to staunch the bleeding.

Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket, she cursed. Why did all her costumes have to have abysmally small pockets? She had a spare pare of gloves, a pack of gum, and a key for their apartment. None of these items were particularly helpful at the moment. What she needed was a first aid kit.

With another glance at Remy, Rogue studied his prone form, trying to come up with a solution. A small groan escaped his lips, though he didn’t appear to be any more conscious than he had a moment ago. Then again, she’d known him to play possum when he didn’t want anyone to know he was awake.

“C’mon, swamp rat, if you’re conscious, give me a sign. Ah promise, Ah won’t be mad.” 

He didn’t respond. 

Going back through her pockets, Rogue didn’t discover anything helpful since her last perusal. Her eyes fell on the pockets of Remy’s duster. He was always pulling the exact thing needed from the depths of those pockets. What she wouldn’t give for him to be able to do that now.

For a moment, Rogue hesitated. Funny, in all the years she’d known him, the years they had been together, she’d never gone through the pockets of his jacket. If something was needed, he’d pull it out from one of the myriad of pockets. She’d lost track of the number of times he seemed to catalogue their contents simply by touch. And now, when she needed him to unerringly pull the needed items from those mysterious depths, he was unavailable. Though the need was dire, it still felt wrong to go through his pockets without his permission. It was almost like there was something sacred about it.

“Sugah,” Rogue said tentatively. “Ah don’t mean to pry. And if it wasn’t an emergency, Ah wouldn’. Do ya mind if Ah look through your pockets? Ah’m certain ya have what Ah need.”

When Remy didn’t stir, Rogue took it as tacit permission. She slipped her hand into his pocket—as she had seen him do many times—and rummaged through the contents. After pulling out three decks of cards, a ball of string, and a pocket French-Russian dictionary, Rogue started to indiscriminately empty his pockets and drop the contents in a haphazard pile beside him.

After emptying the large roomy pockets on the exterior of the jacket and not finding what she needed, Rogue moved to the multitude of hidden inner pockets. After what felt like a small eternity which couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, Rogue found what she was looking for. Or, at least something that would work. Tearing open the package of four inch gauze pads, Rogue pressed several of the sterile pads to the back of his head held them in place with an Ace bandage. That should suffice until Beast arrived. 

With the bleeding staunched, Rogue allowed herself a moment to re-assess the situation. She rolled back on her heels and took Remy’s hand. His fingers were cold, but that was more due to the half gloves and freezing temperatures than his injuries.

Too bad he didn’t have a proper pair of gloves in his pockets. She glanced at the surprising large pile of miscellanea she pulled from his pockets. While she searched for the bandages, she hadn’t taken time to catalog the items. Her focus had been on finding what she needed. Since she couldn’t move him and all she could do was wait for Beast to arrive, Rogue began to return the items to his pockets. He’d want it back. 

It was the strangest assortment of items she’d ever seen. Some of the items were to be expected in anyone’s pockets—spare change, pens, a crumpled receipt, a lighter, a clean handkerchief, and the like. Others were things particular to him which she knew he perpetually carried. A spare pair of her gloves, several hair ties, three granola bars, a book of French poetry, and a myriad of playing cards. She returned the set of throwing knives and his bō staff to their proper places in his inside pockets. There were other items she couldn’t quite explain, but somehow didn’t surprise her. A crumpled pack of cigarettes with two smokes left inside. A wallet with a driver’s license which showed his picture but not his name. Then there were the things she definitely couldn’t explain—like the rubber ducky balanced precariously on top of the pile. 

“Roguey?” Gambit groaned in a half-rasp. His face contorted as he worked through the sudden onslaught of pain. After a moment his face smoothed to a mask of one oblivious to pain and moaned an incongruous, “Ow.” 

“Remy!” At the sound of her husband’s voice, she dropped the rubber ducky and a spare pair of shoelaces in a slushy puddle. The need to use his nom de guerre in public left her head as her attention was completely focused on him. She wrapped her hands around his hand and gave it a squeeze. 

“Wha- happen’d?” He attempted to push himself up onto his elbows, only to collapse back on the ground before he could get even half-way up. A sharp hiss escaped between his teeth.

“What hurts, sug?” Repeating the process from earlier, Rogue ran her hands along his his arms and torso. 

He winced. “Um. Ribs. Head...Leg.”

Rogue nodded. “Your leg ain’t pretty, and ya managed to knock your head quite badly. I imagine it hurts quite a bit. Beast is gonna be here soon. He didn’t want me to move ya, so Ah’m afraid we gotta stay here...” Now that he mentioned his pained ribs, she added it to her list of concerns. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d at least bruised them during his fall or landing. “Anything else hurt?”

It felt as though an age had passed while he attempted to cautiously self-assess his injuries. She could breathe a little easier as he wiggled his fingers and rotated the ankle of his non-twisted leg. Finally he gasped in a harsh, ragged escape of breath as he shrugged his shoulders. “Hurts everywhere. Can’ tell specifics.”

“Okay.” Rogue closed her eyes and forced herself to calm her breathing. _He's gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay..._

“You were in my pockets.” Though the words were slurred, he was attempting to keep humor in his voice. 

_Just like my man._ She thought as she resumed returning the remainder of his pocket’s contents. He was probably also trying to stay conscious. That had to be a good sign. They’d all been trained in how to respond when a concussion was possible. 

“Um, yeah, sorry ‘bout that swamp rat. Needed to find some bandages to stop ya from bleedin’ out. Figured it’d be better to ask forgiveness later than wait for permission.” She peeled back the lapels of the duster so she could resume filling the inner pockets. Other than the cards and bō staff, she was pretty certain she’d put the rest back in the wrong pockets. She didn’t have a clue how he managed to remember where everything was stored.

“Dat’s okay. What’s mine is yours...” His eyelids fluttered. She didn’t like the way the red in his eyes dimmed. 

“Hey...hey.....ya gotta stay with me, swamp rat.” She grabbed the pocket sized Russian/French dictionary and jammed it in an outer pocket. “What’s with the dictionary?”

He blinked slowly, as he tried to remember what she was referring to. “Uh....my Russian’s rusty.” 

“And why did ya need to know Russian?” She brushed his damp hair away from his forehead and wiped the icy rain from his face with the handkerchief. 

“T’ought I’d give Dostoevsky a try....Pete....Russian....only copy....” 

Rogue nodded along. She could put the pieces together. He’d borrowed a book from Piotr, who only had a Russian edition. “Better ya than me sugah. Personally, Ah’m not a fan.” 

He laughed. Or, what would be a laugh if everything didn’t hurt. “Wha’ else did you fin’?”

“The duck?” She had to keep him talking. She gave the rubber ducky a squeeze, it squeaked in response.

A smile flitted across his lips. “Forgot ‘bout dat. Job. Y’ prolly don’ want t’ know....”

“Hmph. We’ll be talkin’ about that later.” She picked up a spare pair of _her_ gloves and slapped them against her palm. “We’re also gonna have a talk about why ya have a spare pair of gloves for me and don’t have a decent pair for yourself.” 

“Yess’m.” With a great deal of effort, he started feeling alongside the outside of his pockets. He grimaced as the familiar cataloging was thrown off by all the misfiled items. “Did ya...empty....dem all?” 

“Ah think so.” She twisted the hair band between her fingers, remembering all the times he had pulled her hair back in a braid. Offered her a pair of gloves. Or, shared his last granola bar with her. 

“Mm.” He rested his hand over his heart. “Missed one. Most important.” 

“Oh?” She thought she’d been through all of his pocket. 

“Inside. Invisible seam in de lining.” He fumbled with the coat trying to get to the pocket. “Please...chère.”

Rogue nodded. Reaching her hand into the duster, she searched by touch for the hidden pocket. Remy’s breathing rasped and his eyelids fluttered. Each blink lasting longer than the one before. It felt like an eternity had passed before she could feel the opening in the lining. The pocket was scarcely larger than the object it contained. It took a moment to finagle the small packet from the secret pocket. 

Finally revealing the small stack of what appeared to be playing cards, Rogue frowned. What’s so special about cards? At home, they had so many decks laying around the place that they practically had cards coming out of their ears. Had the injury to his brain been worse than she thought? With the apparent pain movement caused him, what was so important about the contents of this pocket that he insisted on her emptying it as well?

A smile flickered across Remy’s lips as Rogue tilted the cards so he could see the topmost. His fingers brushed over the worn and battered Queen of Hearts on the top of the stack. The gesture was familiar and reverent. He regained a bit of color to his cheeks and his agitation calmed. “It’s gonna be okay, mon coeur.”

“How do you know?” 

“Cause you’re here. Always okay when we’re together.” He ran his hand over the cards causing them to fan out in her hands, revealing not more playing cards, but a stack of carefully cropped photographs nearly as battered as the playing card. It took a moment for the subject of the photos to register and when it did, the sight nearly took her breath away. Pictures of her—of them—from moments across their relationship. 

The first was a picture from that picnic so long ago. She’d worn so little that day. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit that she’d dressed that way partly as a reminder that she was dangerous, like a brightly colored and poisonous insect warning others away. With so much skin on display, no one could forget the deadly and invasive nature of her mutation. By long habit and general practice, no one dared come close to her. Except Gambit. Which led to the other reason for her skimpy outfit. She’d wanted to know to know what Remy would do when faced with the impossibility of her mutation. He hadn’t run or kept his distance like the others. Instead, he had remained at her side and while he did not cross her carefully maintained boundaries, he made it clear that if she allowed him in, he would gladly take the risk. In the photograph, her arms were wrapped around his shoulders and her wild curls prevented skin contact between their cheeks. Rogue flipped the picture over and in a faded pen it read, _“We ain’t talking about the past, sugar—we’re talking here and now. And for the moment, Gambit walks along the side of the angels.”_

The next photograph was from their time in Valle Soleada. They’re both in swimsuits, sunning on the beach. Not accustomed to exposing so much skin, she burned easily. Her shoulders and nose were bright pink and peeling. Though Remy was wearing sunglasses, it was clear that his gaze was focused adoringly on her. The still fresh scar tissue over his heart stood out in a stark contrast to his tanned skin. A similar scar marred the right side of her chest. On the back, this time in smeared pencil, he had written, _“We’ve had our moments, Remy. They’re not enough, they’ve made me greedy. I want a lifetime.”_ The last word was underline with a dark smudge from a pencil pressed so hard it left a raised mark on the opposite side of the photo. 

There was a slightly blurry group shot of the team in uniform. The larger group shot was trimmed down to playing card size with Rogue and Gambit at the center. She was uncertain about exactly when this photo was taken, but she was wearing her yellow and green uniform with the brown bomber jacket. Gambit stood next to her with his arm around her waist. Though you couldn’t tell from the picture, she remembered how she would lean against Remy at moments like this. She reveled in the sensation of being held and would take advantage of the photo-op to indulge without anyone but Remy realizing she wasn’t pulling away. The ink from the back bled through the photograph in spots and when she turned it over, she found the words she spoke to him in Antarctica before everything fell apart. _“For the first time in my entire life, I felt...hope. I knew that underneath all that hair—all that attitude—there was a person who cared about me. A person who loved me. A person I could love. And I do, Remy. I...love you.”_

Her heart panged at this reminder. The words had been true—still were true—but she had failed him not long after they were spoken. And, for that, she would bear the guilt. She’d known he’d been struggling with his internal demons. It had been obvious to her since he’d pushed her to spend Christmas Eve with Joseph when she’d wanted to spend the day with Remy. The prolonged dark night of his soul had been made all the clearer as he single handedly dug the graves for the Shi’ar. And in Antarctica, she could sense it all coming to a head. She wanted to comfort him, to offer him hope. Even if he hadn’t found the intended comfort in her words when they were spoken, she was glad he found hope in them now. 

The next snapshot was from their first attempt at a date and was solely of her this time. She was wearing that red dress with the lace overlay. The dress hadn’t survived the night and the date had been a failure even before it began. Their friends had crashed the date before their enemies had caused dinner to be postponed. Instead of a quotation from that day on the back, they were his words from their first successful date. _“Maybe we both have to learn there’s more to love than the physical. Maybe this will work even better in the long run, neh? Maybe we’ll both end up learning what love really means. And I can’t think about anyone else I’d rather try to learn with, Rogue.”_

Under the quote and in a different color ink, Remy scrawled their wedding date in his tight, neat hand.

In the vein of lessons learned, the next picture was a recent one of the two of them in New Orleans. They were curled up together on a couch in the ancestral LeBeau home. Remy appeared a bit stiff as he favored the side where his stitches were still healing while Rogue rested her head on his shoulder while she read. The caption on the back of this photo recalled her reminder to him while they had been captured by Candra. While the ink was bright, the words were smudged, like he had run a finger over the letters while the ink was still wet. _“You’re the most important thing in the world to me. And I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. By your side.”_

The final photograph was from their wedding. They held hands and stared into each other’s eyes. For that moment the world consisted only of the two of them. In a recent pen, two quotations filled the back of the photo. She wasn’t familiar with the first. _“Marriage is hard. It requires more than love. It requires need. A hunger. A feeling that you’d rather not go on living than spend another day apart.”_

While she didn’t know who had said that, she had seen her husband live it every minute of every day they were together. That hunger, that need, drove him. He put in the work to make their marriage thrive. 

“Oh Remy,” she half choked on his name as she recognized the second quote—his wedding vows to her. Between her concern about her husband’s injuries and the photographic journey through their relationship, tears welled in the corners of her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, mixing with the freezing rain. 

“...be worthy of your love and respect.” Remy recalled his vows in a shaky whisper as she read silently. 

“Don’ cry. I keep y’ in my heart, mon coeur.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. His eyes were similarly moist with the memories. “Keep those by m’ heart....Remind me dat dere’s good in me....Dat it’s worth de struggle.” 

Rogue squeezed his hand as she pressed a kiss to his clammy brow. Neither of them needed to speak aloud of the darkness which haunted his thoughts and drew him into periods of guilt and self-hatred. And, these pictures were one of the ways he fought against the darkness. A talisman to keep the darkness from swallowing him whole. 

Between pain and the cold, his injuries were taking a toll on him. His eyelids grew heavy while he fought to keep them open. “You are m’ light, chère,...always callin’ me back t’ you...”

“You’re my home and harbor,” she added in scarcely more than a whisper. Those words were indelibly imprinted on her heart as the quotations on the back of the photographs were imprinted on his. Together they had found belonging and safety. 

Not far off, the familiar thrum of the Blackbird’s engines filled the air. Help was on the way.

“Oui.” Remy squeezed her hand with a strength which gave her confidence that he would be okay. A faint smile played at his lips. “Je t’aime.”

“Ah love ya too, swamp rat—with all my heart.” Rogue carefully slipped the packet of photographs into the secret pocket, so they would be there next time he needed them.

Beast rushed into the alley, pushing Rogue aside so he might better attend to his patient. Others followed carrying a backboard and waited until they were given the go ahead. Rogue held Remy’s gaze while he answered Beast’s questions. 

A calmness settled over her. Like Remy had said, all would be well. No matter what happened, they would get through this together like they did everything else. After all, he carried her in his heart and she likewise carried him in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:   
> The quotations on the back of the photographs come from the dialogue in various comic books. Since they are suppose to be quotes Remy has written out to remind himself he is loved and to help him fight the guilt and self-hatred which haunts him, I have tightened some of them up so they contain the relevant lines. Also, since he’d be writing these out rather than speaking them, I refrained from using the phonetic attempts at dialect so often seen in the X-Men comics.
> 
> So, along with citing the relevant comic books the quotes come from, I’ve also written out the quotations as they appear.
> 
> “We ain’t talkin’ about the past, sugah—we’re talkin’ here and now. And for the moment, Gambit walks along the side of the angels.” (Rogue)  
> —X-Men #8
> 
> “We’ve had our moments, Remy. They’re not enough, they’ve made me greedy. Ah want a lifetime.” (Rogue)  
> —X-Treme X-Men #19
> 
> “For the first time in my entire life, Ah felt...hope. Ah knew that underneath all that hair—all that attitude—there was a person who cared about me. A person who loved me. A person Ah could love. And Ah do, Remy. Ah...love you.” (Rogue)  
> —Uncanny X-Men #349
> 
> “Then we don’ kiss, Rogue. Simple as that. Maybe thas’ jus’ fine right now for you an’ me. Maybe we both have’t’learn there’s more t’love than th’ physical. Let me take those tears from your eyes, belle. Maybe this will work even better in th’ long run, neh? Maybe we’ll both end up learnin’ what love really means. An’ I can’t think ‘bout anyone else I’d rather try t’ learn with, Rogue.” (Gambit)  
> —X-Men #24
> 
> “Neither Scott nor Logan are my husband, Remy. You’re the most important thing in the world to me. And I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. By your side.” (Rogue)  
> —Mr. and Mrs. X #12
> 
> “Marriage is hard. It requires more than love. It requires need. A hunger. A feeling that you’d rather not go on living than spend another day apart.” (Spoken by Storm)
> 
> “For me, not so much a vow—(my promises never been worth much anyway)—as an affirmation. I love you with every piece of me, Anna Marie. I haven’t always been a good man. But we’ve been through hell and it’s changed me. You’ve changed me. You see in me the man I hope I am. And that’s my vow to you...to always be worthy of your love and respect.” (Remy’s wedding vow)  
> —X-Men Gold #30


End file.
